Nothing between us, so near I hear your skin whisper what you could never tell or remember of the longing in the clay beneath the oak when through the branches a lace of light came down each day to watch and wait. Or the secrecy of the breeze dying down over the murmer in the earth, hovering there to blend its voice to breath. Or how, even then, the rain through the brow of grasses could foreshadow tears or a glance of light a smile.You turn towards me, your eyes smile into the silence of these thoughts. The wold of your mind is foreign Who knows where you are from!

THINK I’LL THE MYSTERY BE By Iris de Ment

Everybody is wondering what and where they all came from Everybody is worried about where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me I think I’ll just let the mystery be. Some say once gone, you’re gone forever and some say you’re gonna come back Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour, if in sinful ways you lack Some say that they’re coming back in a garden, bunch of carrots and little sweet peas I think I’ll just let the mystery be Everybody is wondering what and where they all came from Everybody is worried about where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done Well, no one knows for certain so it’s all the same to me I think I’ll just let the mystery be. Think I’ll just let the mystery be.

BRIDGET CHARM FOR SMOORING THE FIRE (Version I)

I rake this fire like everyone else Bridgit below it with Mary on top Twelve angels of the angels of the ages Protecting my house till dawn

BRIDGET CHARM FOR SMOORING THE FIRE (Version II)

May Bridgit give blessing to the house that is here; Bridgit, the fair and tender, Her hue like the cotton-grass, Rich-gressed maiden of ringlets of gold.

BRIDGET HOUSE BLESSING

Brighid of the Mantle, encompass us, Lady of the Lambs, protect us, Keeper of the Hearth, kindle us, Beneath your mantle gather us, And restore us to memory. I am Brigit, the ancient goddess of this Island, breo-saigit, the fiery arrow. I am the goddess of fire. My breath breaks the icy grasp of winter and brings forth new life. My cattle graze in these fields and my milk nourishes generations. My fire is the fire of imagination and the fire of poetry. Oh yes, I am the goddess of poetry, and where I go, before me is the golden bough and the tinkling bell. Yeats and his like all forged their stanzas and burnished their lines in my fire. And these wild women I am the mother of them all. They are all my daughters. It is my fire that burns within their breast. It is my fire that warms their hearth and gives them courage. This fire that cannot be extinguished is the fire of longing for their destiny. I am Brigit, aid-woman of Mary and godmother of Christ himself. When there was no room or food, I took great pity on the helpless mother, providing sustenance and helping forth the blessed child. Love of family and love of neighbor are my legacy. And I am Brigid, abbess of Kildare. There is a fire that burns within me, a fire of love - love for the risen Christ. I devote myself to the perfection of this love. I kept the fire at Kildare, symbol of the ancient, renewed by the love of Christ. Though it was desecrated. it could not be extinguished. The fire still burns, the light still glows within the soul of Irish women. These women are my sisters in Christ. Let the ancient prayers of the hearth be raised in the morning. God, kindle thou in our hearts a flame of love to neighbor, to foe, to friend, to kindred all. And so to the evening, keep the embers alive and protect this house and its people Until the dawn of day.

I sing loudly the praises of Bridget She it is who is daughter, not just of Ireland, but of all the countries of the world. A shining lantern of Leinster, a flame throughout the land, Leader of the women of Ireland, one of the finest women ever. The hard, dark winter comes, short and sharp But once Bridget’s Day appears, Ireland’s spring is not far behind.

I’d like to give a lake of beer to God. I’d love the heavenly Host to be tippling there For all eternity. I’d love the men of Heaven to live with me, To dance and sing. If they wanted, I’d put at their disposal Vats of suffering. White cups of love I’d give them With a heart and a half; Sweet pitchers of mercy I’d offer To every man. I’d make Heaven a cheerful spot Because the happy heart is true. I’d make the men contented for their own sake. I’d like Jesus to love me too. I’d like the people of heaven to gather From all the parishes around. I’d give a special welcome to the women, The three Marys of great renown. I’d sit with the men, the women and God There by the lake of beer. We’d be drinking good health forever And every drop would be a prayer.

1735 POEM FOR BRIDGID'S PROTECTION

St. Brigid’s cross hung over door Which did the house from fire secure As Gillo thought, O powerful charm To keep a house from taking harm; And tho’ the dogs and servants slept, By Brigid’s care the house was kept.

SAINT BRIDE'S CHARM

The charm put by Bride the beneficient On her goats, on her sheep, on her kine On her horses, on her chargers, on her herds Early and late going home, and from home. To keep them from rocks and ridges From the heels and the horns of one another From the birds of the Red Rock And from Luath of the Feinne. From the blue peregrine hawk of Creag Duillion From the brindled eagle of Ben-Ard From the swift hawk of Tordun From the surly raven of Bard's Creag. From the fox of the wiles From the wolf of the Mam From the foul-smelling fumart And from the restless great-hipped bear. From every hoofed of four feet And from every hatched of two wings.

BLESSING OF BRIGIT

Each day and each night That I say the Descent of Brigit I shall not be slain I shall not be sworded I shall not be put in cell I shall not be hewn I shall not be riven I shall not be anguished I shall not be wounded I shall not be ravaged I shall not be blinded I shall not be made naked I shall not be left bare Nor will Dagda Leave me forgotten. Nor fire shall burn me Nor sun shall burn me Nor moon shall blanch me Nor water shall drown me Nor flood shall drown me Nor brine shall drown me Nor seed of faerie shall lift me Nor seed of airy host shall lift me Nor earthly beig destroy me I am under the shielding Of good Brigit each day I am under the shielding Of good Brigit each night. I am under the keeping of the Child of Dagda Each early and late, Every dark, every light. Brigit is my comrade-woman Brigit is my maker of song Brigit is my helping-woman My choicest of women, my guide.

The Mysts of Time

Áine Minogue

In a concept album as large and the Island of Saints and Scholars itself, Áine Minogue explores the history of Celtic spirituality through music. The Mysts of Time: Chants and Melodies of the Ageless Celtic Lands is the result of her intense personal quest to discover the essence of the Irish spirit, with its rich and varied relationship to the divine.

"There is a large gap between Enya albums, and Áine Minogue fills it capably. She has a fragile, lilting voice that wraps around the mostly Gaelic lyrics like a gently windblown satin sheet. Lushly arranged, this mix of traditional tunes and originals is performed by some of the best players on the new acoustic music scene." BILLBOARD MAGAZINE

“This delicate and "mysty" album, subtitled Chants and Melodies of the Ageless Celtic Lands, intertwines the foggy heath with a church alcove. Aine (pronounced On-ya) interprets plainsong, traditional Celtic religious and secular as well as originals honoring Brigit.

2. What would you like to see from your death bed? What is there that you don’t want? What is not there that you do?

3. Write a letter to your heart.

4. What are the seven thoughts that shape your world?

5. What are the other seven I never even thought of?

6. What have my chosen seven kept me from thinking?

7. What are the seven feelings that these seven thoughts are dancing to?

8. What do I want from my life?

9. What is the significance of what my soul tells me?

10. What am I at now that I should stop?

11. What is the new thing my heart would love?

12. How can I become truly aware of my great beauty?

13. List of words you always revert to.

14. At least ten words which never come near you.

15. What is my concept of God?

16. Which tradition do I belong to spiritually?

17. How much of me is in it?

18. What can I reawaken in or retrieve from it to address the complexity of my present longing?

19. Who are the inner friends of your heart?

20. Whom do you shelter? For whom are you a friend to the heart?

REVIEWS

BILLBOARD MAGAZINE by John Diliaberto

There is a large gap between Enya albums, and Áine Minogue fills it capably. She has a fragile, lilting voice that wraps around the mostly Gaelic lyrics like a gently windblown satin sheet. Lushly arranged, this mix of traditional tunes and originals is performed by some of the best players on the new acoustic music scene.

CD UNIVERSE

This delicate and "mysty" 1996 album, subtitled Chants and Melodies of the Ageless Celtic Lands, intertwines the foggy heath with a church alcove. Aine (pronounced On-ya) interprets plainsong (Christe Redemptor), traditional Celtic religious (both the Christian I nGaol De and the pagan Keening Song) and secular music (Anach Cuan)... as well as originals honoring the goddess Brigit.

Accompanied by guitar, cello, tabla, fiddle, oboe, bodrhan, mandolin, Irish pipes and a wonderfully rich chorus, her harp and vocal music is lush yet airy, a very lovely feast.

Aine Minogue has played Irish harp since childhood and sings primarily in Gaelic, her native tongue. Her songs are mythic laments full of cascading harp and gorgeous string orchestration. MYSTS OF TIME is her third album and occupies much more of a traditional realm than other releases. Minogue's inspired reworking of the Celtic vernacular recall an ancient druid past. "Christe Redemptor" and the mass "Kyrie Eleison, An Ghloir, An Phaidir" both draw on her ability to create lushly layered arrangements, sharing many of the same sounds as Enya. "Anach Cuan"'s ominous cello lines cradle Minogue's shimmering vocals. " "I nGaol De" is a repetitious type of invocation, common to the early monks who saw God in everything, especially in nature. Aine Minogue's voice is enchanting and radiant, making MYSTS OF TIME a transcendent experience.